


the truth we imagine

by bubblegumgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblegumgirl/pseuds/bubblegumgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another supernatural creature has made its way through Beacon Hills, leaving it's inhabitant in comas while their minds are trapped in a world filled with monsters. When this creature claims Stiles as it's latest victim, it's up to the rest of the Pack to save him. Unfortunately, the only way to do that seems to be joining Stiles in whatever Hell he's living in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the truth we imagine

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic is something ive been messing with for a while. its no where near finished, but i wanted to get this part out there.  
> unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine (if you notice any, leave me a comment and ill fix them) and all criticism is much appreciated. 
> 
> for anyone who is confused about the names:
> 
> The Disney Princess: Allison (because she's wonderful and also kick ass)  
> The Joker: Scott (because he's fun and it fitted with the princess thing)  
> Catwoman: Erica (mostly because of the fandom thing where she's called that. like, all the time)  
> The Queen: Lydia (because obviously)  
> The Consort: Jackson (because the consort is never as powerful as the queen the way the king is perceived to be)  
> Loki: Isaac (because he's mischievous)  
> Director Fury: Boyd (because he's stoic and kick ass)

 

 

The shadows dance and glide around him in a mockery of grace. He can hear their shrill laugh, like glass ground into his ears and wonders idly if they’re bleeding, seems appropriate really. He watches them, watching the shapes they form, twisted caricatures of faces terrifying and beautiful, yet so familiar. Who are these people, these figures? They mean something, he knows they do. The shadows have bodies now. They seem confused, unsure whether man or beast, most settling for a grotesque mix of the two, others flitting in between almost casually.

“Stiles,” they sing, their lilting voices feel wrong, so wrong, “Stiles.”

Who is Stiles? Is he Stiles? The name seems familiar, but… wrong somehow, as if it’s not the whole truth. He opens his mouth to ask the shadows, and chokes on his voice. Maybe he’s not meant to speak, maybe this isn’t the place. His question wasn’t important anyway. The shadows move closer, circling him as he cringes away. He doesn’t like this place, he wants to leave, wants to go home.

“Stiles!” This voice is different, it’s an important voice, a good voice. But what is it doing here? This isn’t a place for good voices.

“Stiles, Stiles,” the shadow’s mock, laughing cruelly at his pained whimpers. They hurt so much, why won’t they stop?

“Stiles, you have to come to us, we can’t get to you.” Another good voice, a woman this time. They need to go, before the shadows hurt them too. He has to warn them.

“G-go!” he forces out, feeling the word tear at his throat, “Run – hurt -- please!”

“Stiles, they’re not real, you have to move!”

“Stiles, RUN!!”

He follows the command without thinking, barrelling through the shadows with a desperate, blind faith. He runs and runs as they claw at him, forcing himself not to stop and cover his ears as they scream. He breaks through the shadows, searching widely for the other voices. He sees them standing across the other side of the river, a small group of people too far away for him to make out any features. The water in the river is thick and stained with a motley of browns and red, it moves sluggishly but with a strength that leaves no question to what would happen to anyone unfortunate enough to enter it. A crumbling stone bridge stretches across from one side to another, weeds growing between the cracks in the stone. Behind him the shadows move closer, their angry screams growing louder as they reach for him with clawed fingers, he can feel their fury as they dig into him with icy spikes. How dare he run, how dare he try and escape from them, he would pay, pay in pain and blood. They would claw at his flesh, watch as his life blood drained into the ground, he would feel his last breath tear his throat as he screamed for mercy while they laughed, laughed at the petty little attempt of –

“Get on the damn bridge!!”

With a choked cry he flung himself onto the stones, scrapping his hands on the uneven stone. His blood leaving bright red spots as he pushed himself up and further onto the bridge. With each step he could feel the shadows falling further and further behind. They couldn’t follow him onto the bridge, leaving them to twist and snarl in impotent rage at edge of the river. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped off the bridge, stumbling slightly in the thick green grass that covered the other side.

 “Stiles? You okay?” A young brunette stepped forward hesitantly. She looked to be around 20 years old, her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail that trailed down her back. She had a wrist guard strapped to her left arm and a quiver of arrows strung over her back. Her right hand was clutched in the hold of a boy with large brown eyes. He looked between them and tried to catch his breath.

“What’s a Stiles?”

 

***

 

“Uh, you are,” she said, “did – do you not know that?”

“It sounds kind of familiar, but… I think my name’s longer than that.”

“It’s a nickname,” she smiled at him.

“Oh.” Well that made sense. He looked around at the rest of the people standing together. There were about seven of them altogether, three girls and the rest male. They all seemed so familiar….

“Wait, I know you,” he says to the girl with the arrows, “you’re the Princess.”

“The what?” Her nose scrunches in confusion.

“You’re the Disney Princess, the one who fell in love with the Joker,” he nodded to the boy who was holding her hand.

“Like Batman?” The boy frowned.

“I think he means like medieval times,” The blonde one said, “you know, the guy in the funny hat who used to entertain the King and stuff.”

“Well of course that’s who I meant. Batman killed the other Joker years ago, you know that,” he said to the blonde.

“What? Why would I know that?”

“You’re Catwoman, aren’t you? Big fan, by the way,” he grinned at her. He looked around at the dumbfounded expressions the others had, “Was I not meant to say? Did they not know?”

“Uh, no it’s fine, they knew,” she assured him, “I just… don’t get called that much anymore.”

“Oh good, would suck if the first time we met I accidentally blew your cover.”

“First time we met?” She looked confused.

The curly haired boy frowned at the others, “Why doesn’t he know our names?”

“Well Deaton said this is kind of his mind right? Maybe this is just how he thinks of us.” The third girl tossed her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, “So who do you think I am?”

“Don’t you know who you are?” he asked. Why wouldn’t they know, was something wrong?

“Of course we do, we just want to know who _you_ think we are,” she smirked at him.

“Well that a little weird, but alright, you’re the Queen and he’s your Consort,” he pointed at the boy with spiky brown hair and a put upon expression.

“Consort?” the boy pouted, “why can’t I be the King?”

“Because no one respects you,” the curly haired one laughed, twisting away from the other boy as he half-heartedly lunged at him. He looked at Stiles, “Who am I?”

“You’re Loki,” Stiles replied, looking around at the rest, “where is Director Fury?”

“He, uh, had to stay behind. Hold fort and all that,” Loki answered.

“How come they got cool people, and I’m the guy in the funny hat?” The Joker pouted.

“I think you’re cool, sweetie,” the Princess smiled beatifically up at him, causing Joker’s expression to melt into something Stiles could only describe as besotted.

“So who is he?” The Consort jabbed his thumb in the direction of the tall, muscled standing in the back of the group.

“This will be interesting,” Loki snickered.

Stiles studied the brooding man, digging through his memory for a name. There were so many, and none of them seemed to fit well enough to Stiles’ liking.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly, “but you’re important, I know that much.”

“Derek,” the man grunted.

“What?” Stiles blinked.

“My name. It’s Derek.” Derek raised his eyebrow expectantly at Loki.

“Oh right,” Loki said after a second, “you can call me Isaac. If you want. I mean Loki’s cool too…”

The rest of them chimed in with names that Stiles guessed he was supposed to use instead.

“Well great,” Stiles clapped his hands and looked around, “now we’ve gone round the sharing circle, I don’t suppose anyone can tell me where we are or what the hell those things back there were?”


End file.
